


Injured Brat

by byebands



Category: American Assassin (2017)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Injury, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 12:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17284358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byebands/pseuds/byebands
Summary: Mitch is injured and he’s the least helpful patient.





	Injured Brat

The music from your phone played lowly throughout the small studio apartment to give you ambient sound. You had vaguely hoped it would help, and were only mildly disappointed that it hadn’t. You shifted restlessly in the bed, pulling the covers a little higher, bunching the top around your neck slightly. You had been tossing and turning for a decent amount of time. Too cold, too uncomfortable, too lonely.

Mitch should be home by now, you thought to yourself as you cracked an eye open to look at the alarm clock on your nightstand. The letters shone a bright green, offending your eyes. 3:38 AM.

“Where the hell is he?” You questioned of the empty apartment, sitting up in the bed. You pushed your hair back and away from your face, patting the mattress beside you to make sure that he hadn’t been able to sneak in during the few times you’d managed to become briefly unconscious. Nothing.

You contemplated calling him, deciding that it would be useless. If he was at work, which you surely hoped was the case, you doubted he’d even bother to shoot you a “sorry can’t talk” text message. With a deep breath you threw the covers off of your body, goosebumps rising up on your cold skin immediately. The window near the bed had been left open to let in the cool autumn air, and you regretted it. You assessed your outfit, a thong and Mitch’s shirt. That couldn’t possibly be why you were cold…

“Socks,” you said to yourself as if you discovered a miracle solution to your coldness.

You walked on the balls of your feet across the chilly wooden floor, stopping at the black dresser against the wall. You opened a drawer and rifled around in the dark before finding a pair of socks. You returned to the bed, sitting down on the edge to pull them on. You’d managed to get your left foot covered when a bang sounded loud throughout the apartment.

Your heart started pounding against your chest, your head snapping up to the source of the sound. You saw light pouring in from the hallway, the front door hanging wide open. Mitch was leaning against the door frame. You could see his chest rising and falling hard from labored breathing.

You sprang to your feet, hurrying to the front door to greet your boyfriend. “What the fuck happened to you?” You asked, grabbing at his arm to help him inside. He shrugged you off, pushing off of the door frame. 

“Nothing good,” He remarked, limping to the sofa where he landed heavily. He huffed loudly, stretching his long legs out in front of him. You shut the front door, throwing the dead bolts before flicking on the living room light.

“Jesus Christ,” you said breathlessly. Your eyes quickly raked over Mitch before you found yourself instantly at the sofa, getting on your knees beside him. “I’ll repeat my question from earlier, and if you give me another bullshit answer I’ll strangle you. What the fuck happened to you?”

Mitch groaned, rolling his eyes and hoping you didn’t notice. You did, giving him a irritated look in response. When he shifted in his seat but didn’t answer you jabbed your finger against his left hip. “I’m serious, Mitch!”

His groan was louder and leaked annoyance. “I was in a fight. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Would you go back to bed? It’s three in the morning, Y/N. We can talk about this when you wake up.”

You were about to snarkily respond to him when your brain finally caught up with everything you had taken in while standing beside the door. “How hurt are you?” You asked, pushing up from the floor.

“Not enough to kill me,” Mitch responded, his right hand moving to rest on his side. His left gripping his thigh. “Like I said. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Really.” He was trying his hardest to be reassuring. He was failing.

You walked to the bathroom, returning with the extensive first aid kit that you had assembled when the two of you had first moved in together. Perks of being the biggest worry wart this side of the Mississippi river, and a jaded nurse.

“Let me get a look at you. Take off your shirt so I can make sure you’re not about to have your intestines drop out onto my floor. I just mopped.”

Mitch gave you an annoyed look and shook his head, covering more of his thigh with his hand. It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Mitch, don’t make me lecture you until you give up. Just let me see!”

He hesitated for a moment before moving his hand. He sat up with a wince, pulling the black sweater over his head. He let the fabric fall to the floor, leaning back against the sofa to let you get a look at his torso. He had various cuts and scrapes along his chest and stomach, and a sizeable bruise on his side. You were almost alarmed at how angry the mark looked against his skin. You were sure that was what was causing him pain.

“Shit, Mitch.” You breathed, reaching out cautiously to touch the mark. He let out a quick breath, you pulled your hand back. “This is right over your floating ribs, Mitch. You might’ve broken one of them, and with the way you’re reacting, it wouldn’t surprise me if you did. Can you breathe okay? God. You need to get x-rayed.”

He scoffed at you, shaking his head. “That’s not happening.”

You suppressed a groan, checking the rest of his torso. “That looks like the worst of this. Let me see the rest of you and then I’ll start patching you up.” You said with an air of defeat to your voice.

“No.” Mitch said flatly, replacing his hand over the bruising on his side and ribs.

You took a deep breath, sitting back against the heels of your feet. “I’m not asking you Mitch. I’m telling you. Either willingly let me check the rest of you, or I’ll cut your pants off. Try and protest, and I’ll punch your side.”

Mitch glared at you, his jaw set. “Since when do you talk like that?”

You sighed, “since I obtained a difficult boyfriend. Just let me help, would you?”

Mitch sat for a moment unmoving, looking both pissed off and in pain. Eventually, he reluctantly lifted his hips and let you help him out of his jeans. Only then did you notice the blood oozing from a round wound in his left thigh.

Your eyes widened a little as you moved closer to his leg, getting a better view of his wound. “Mitch,” you breathed out. “What the hell?” You found yourself asking, gently resting the pads of your fingers underneath the wound. “Have you been shot?”

Mitch shrugged, looking down at the wound in his thigh. “Looks like it, doesn’t it?”

You looked up at him, narrowing your eyes in annoyance. “Mitch, would you stop answering me like that. I’m going to have to take you to a hospital now, you realize this right? It’s my job as a nu-”

Mitch cut you off by leaning forward, gripping your cheeks in his hands, and giving you a firm kiss on the lips. You took a second to enjoy the kiss before pushing him away. “Don’t do that!” You shrieked, making him sit back against the couch. “You’re injured and you only did that to try and shut me up. Well it’s not gonna work!”

You dug around in the first aid kit, finding some gauze, wiping away the blood around the wound. “Give me your phone,” you said holding your hand out to him. He stared at you blankly for a moment before indicating his pants with his foot.

“In the pocket.”

You reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled his phone out, turning on the flashlight. You held it over the wound in his leg, frowning sadly. “Baby, this is not good. You really need to go to the hospital. I can’t do anything for you here. They’ve got to remove the bullet and make sure that you get stitched up.”

Mitch shook his head, sitting up a bit. You could see from the look on his face that he was doing everything he could not to wince in pain. “I’m not going to the hospital. Just, dig the bullet out yourself and stitch me up. You’re a nurse, you’re capable of doing this aren’t you? If not I’ll do it myself.”

Your eyes widened a bit in shock. “Mitch! I’m not going to dig a bullet out of your thigh! I could seriously hurt you. This isn’t a sanitary environment, I don’t have the right tools. You’re no where near numbed up enough for me to do that to you and I can’t numb you here without causing you even more pain. Babe, please. Go to the hospital.”

Mitch shook his head, rubbing his leg above his wound. “If you don’t do it, (Y/N), I’ll just do it myself. Honestly,I’ll be perfectly fine. I just figured it would be better since you sort of know what you’re doing.” He went to push himself up from the couch and you pushed on his hip to stop him, making him stay seated.

“Mitch, fine…let me, let me think for a second on how to do this. Okay? I uh, let me figure out how to get you a little numb.”

You stood from the floor beside Mitch, rubbing your forehead anxiously. You didn’t know what you were going to do, or how you were going to do it. “Fuck, alright. Let me see if I have any pain killers.”

Mitch shrugged, “I don’t really need any.”

You scoffed, nodding your head. “Right, of course you don’t Mitch. Of course you don’t need any. Because you’re some big tough man right?”

Mitch shook his head. “No, I don’t need any because I’ve been through this before. I know I can handle it, (y/n). I’ll be fine.”

You walked into the kitchen, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at him. “Of course you’ve been through this before, Mitch. You’re so strong and fantastic, right?” You found a large bowl, filling it with hot water from the sink, heading for the bathroom to find a few wash clothes. You placed the bowl down on the coffee table, dropping the wash clothes into the water. “Lift yourself a little.” You instructed Mitch, placing a towel down on the couch underneath him to keep blood from staining it.

“Are you planning on giving me a sponge bath?” Mitch asked, glancing from you to the bowl on the coffee table. You glared at him, taking a deep breath to keep from snapping at him.

“No, I will not be giving you a sponge bath, Mitch. That is to clean your stupid bullet wound.” You reached into the first aid kit, pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves.

“Oh, I’m allergic to latex.” Mitch said casually, shrugging his shoulders a bit. You widened your eyes at him, going to pull the gloves off. “I’m kidding.” He smirked, watching your expression darken with annoyance.

“I’m about to dig my finger into your bullet hole.”

Mitch smirked, raising an eyebrow at you. “You gonna let me dig my finger into one of your holes later as payback?”

Your cheeks reddened a bit as you searched in the first aid kit for the hemostats. “At the rate you’re going tonight, hell no.” You huffed, placing the package down on the coffee table by the bowl of hot water.

“You act like I’m never like this.”

Rolling your eyes, you found the gauze and medical tape. “You’re normally only an ass. Not an injured ass. It’s different.”

Mitch watched you with hooded eyes as you continued setting supplies out on the coffee table. “I’m always sort of an injured ass, babe. You just don’t know it.”

“Yeah, well, just shut up, how does that sound?” You wrung a washcloth out, pressing it against his wound. He sucked a sharp breath of air in through his clenched teeth, breathing deeply. You tried ignoring the noise he made, wiping delicately at the wound to clean the blood away.  
“That doesn’t feel too good, babe.” Mitch whispered, shifting a bit in his seat. You made an apologetic expression continuing to clean the wound.

“I’m going to have to start digging into the wound to remove the bullet.” You said softly, pulling the hemostats out of the sterile packaging. You had to take a few deep breaths before you could begin digging into the wound. You stared at it for a second before pressing the tips of the hemostats into his thigh wound. Mitch’s eyes widened a little, watching you press the wound. “Careful.” He hissed, voice deeper than normal.

You looked up at him, keeping the top of the hemostats in the wound. “I figured I’d just root around like a pig looking for food in there, Mitch. But, now that you’ve told me to be careful, I guess I’ll try.”

Mitch gave you an unamused glare, clearing his throat. “Proceed.”

You rolled your eyes, inching the hemostats in a few more millimeters. “Thank you for your permission.”

You felt the hemostats hit something and your breath caught in your throat. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down in concentration. “Please, do not move, Mitch. I’m serious. I could lose grip of the bullet and you’d be fucked.”

Mitch shook his head. “I’m not going to move, but. I wouldn’t be fucked. You made that clear with your comment earlier.”

You looked up at him, your eyes narrowing into a glare. “You know, Mitch. If I didn’t love you, I’d shove this bullet further into your thigh and leave you to figure this out on your own.”

He huffed, trying not to laugh at your comment. “You would never even dare, (y/n). Your threat doesn’t hold any water with me.” He clutched his side again, taking a few shallow breaths. “I’m beginning to think that this is quite possibly a mistake.”

You dug the hemostats around in his thigh, ignoring his groans and moans of pain as best as you possibly could. You needed to get the stats around the bullet, and to do that you needed to clear a bigger space.

“Why don’t you just cut the wound open bigger with a rusty kitchen knife? I’m sure it would feel just as nice.”

You looked up at Mitch, keeping your hand steady so you wouldn’t move the hemostats anymore in his leg. “If you’d have gone to the hospital, you wouldn’t even know this was happening, Mitch. You’d be knocked out and I’d be spared a massive headache.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes at you. “Point taken.”

You felt the hemostats firmly close around the bullet, and you clamped your mouth shut. Breathing heavily through your nose. “I’m sorry this is going to hurt.”

You pressed your left hand firmly to his knee to keep his leg from moving at all, carefully pulling the bullet from his thigh. You dropped the bullet and hemostats into the metal bowl of hot water, taking a wash cloth out to press to his thigh. You started cleaning the wound, making sure to clean up as much of the blood as possible. When you glanced up at Mitch you saw that his eyes were closed and his head was leaning back against the sofa. “Are you alright?” You asked, rubbing gently at the wound.

“Mhmm, I love having foreign objects removed from my body. Almost as much as I like having them forced in. Guns are so much fun.”

You sighed heavily, dropping the wash cloth back into the bowl. “I’m sorry, babe. I really mean it. I hate doing this to you.”

He shrugged his shoulders a little. “I know you do babe. I appreciate this, thank you.”

You nodded, dropping the wash cloth back into the bowl on the coffee table. “You’re welcome. Feel it would’ve been a lot easier without your sarcastic remarks but, oh well.” You fished around in the first aid kit to find a needle and thread to stitch him with. “This is gonna suck.” You remarked, all of your concentration being on threading the needle once you removed it from the packaging.

“I’m aware.” Mitch said in a tone that didn’t indicate he cared. “I’ve been stitched before, (y/n).”

You carefully gripped his thigh, taking a second to choose from which side you’d start, trying to remember all of your stitching training. It had been a while since you’d had to close a bullet wound. “Any time you’re ready. It’s not like I have a gaping wound in my thigh.” Mitch said with a bit of whine to his voice. You looked up at him, narrowing your eyes into a near glare. You’d made this expression too many times tonight for it to be as effective. Mitch got the point that he was irritating you.

“I’m going to stab this needle into your wound and walk away. Would you like that?”

Mitch shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Please just get this over with.”

You breathed in deeply through your nose before pinching the wound together as best you could with the thumb and first finger of your right hand. Mitch made a near whimper noise. “I thought you were supposed to be tough?” You said, still holding his wound in a pinch.  
Mitch snorted at you, “I am.”

You took a moment to make sure your hand was steady before pressing the needle into his skin, pulling it through before pushing it into the other side. Mitch had started bouncing his uninjured leg, but when you looked up at him, his face was expressionless. “Are you okay?”

Mitch nodded, realizing his leg was bouncing. “Yes, I’m fine. Adrenaline is just wearing off I think. Starting to feel everything. It isn’t the funnest thing I’ve ever been through, to be fair.” He gave you the smallest shrug and went back to resting his head against the couch with his eyes closed.

You finished stitching his leg quicker than you had thought you would, thankful you could get this over and done with. You grabbed the gauze and medical tape from the coffee table and quickly fashioned a bandaid of sorts for his wound. You taped down the gauze securely, and leaned forward to kiss his knee. You knew it didn’t help anything, but affection was your favorite method of making someone feel better.

“Here, I’m gonna wrap your chest with an ace bandage. It won’t do anything for your surely broken rib, but the compression might make it feel less achy.”   
He lift his arms up over his head, wincing as he did. “Isn’t this fun?”

You rolled your eyes and got to work wrapping the bandage around his ribs, making sure it was tight enough to be affective, but not enough to hurt him. Once you fastened the velcro you stood from the floor and pulled your gloves off. “That’s all I can do for now, I think. Your other scrapes aren’t bad enough for you to let me put bandaids on them, I think.”

He nodded in agreement as you began tidying up the coffee table.

Mitch took a second to make sure he was okay before he shifted on the couch, trying to make himself more comfortable, groaning a bit as he did. You rushed to the bed to grab a pillow, placing it down on the couch for him. “Lay down.” You ordered, carefully grabbing his ankles to lift his legs onto the couch. He almost protested, but thought better of it. You covered him with the blanket over the back of the couch, and went off to find water for him. “You don’t need to fuss over me.” He said, sinking himself a little further on the couch, his feet resting against the arm.

“I know I don’t have to, Mitch. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to.” You made him a glass of water and set it on the coffee table for him before you started cleaning up the mess you’d made. You contemplated how to dispose of the hemostats and the bullet, deciding to put them into a ziplock and throw the ziplock into your purse for you to dispose of properly at the hospital on your next shift.

“Thanks for helping me.” Mitch called to you while you were cleaning up. You smiled softly, nodding your head.

“You’re welcome.”

In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom you found some strong painkillers from when you’d hurt your shoulder at work, and popped two into your palm before returning to Mitch. “Here,” you said holding your hand out to him. You picked up his water glass, offering that to him as well. “Take these, they’ll help with your pain.”

He shook his head in protest, pushing your hand away from him. You let out a huff. “If you don’t I’ll wait until you pass out, crush them up and mix them with water to inject into you. Is that what you’d prefer?”

He gave you a stern look before taking the pills, swallowing them dry. “There.” He said, sticking his tongue out so you could make sure he wasn’t hiding them in his mouth. “Can you stop nursing me now and just come give attention? As my girlfriend?”

You nodded, sitting beside the couch. He huffed and scooted over, tapping the spot next to him. You gave him a questioning look before moving to lay on your side next to him on the couch, careful not to put any of your weight on his body. He lifted his arm and wrapped it around you, pulling you against him. You made sure not to press yourself against his ribs too much, and to only rest your hand on the middle of his stomach where he’d had no injuries.

“Thank you, again.” He whispered, eyes closed and breathing steady.

“You’re welcome, again.” You responded, lifting yourself a bit on your elbow to be able to kiss his cheek. “I love you.” You said, getting back into a comfortable position, resting your head on his shoulder.

Mitch made a noise that you knew was him trying to say ‘I love you’ back as he fell asleep. You smiled softly, thankful to have your man back with you. Regardless of his injuries.


End file.
